Mirage
by KrissyKat91
Summary: What would you do if you found yourself somehow transported into a cartoon, in the form of something that isn't supposed to show up till season three, and in the perfect position to change things for the better? Me? I just tried not to flub everything too badly. (ON HIATUS TILL I GET AROUND TO WATCHING THE SHOW PROPERLY INSTEAD OF JUMPING TO RANDOM EPISODES IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER)


KrissyKat91: I'm not sure what to call this. It's in first person, but it's not a self insert. The main character is not me, she just has enough similarities that I can easily get into her head. If, at any point, this looks like it's turning into a Mary Sue, please tell me so I can fix it.

* * *

Ch. 1: It Begins

"LATE LATE LATE! I AM _SO LATE!"_

I'm pretty sure the whole apartment complex heard me screaming as I shot out the door, barely remembering to lock it behind me. There was no way I was going to get this job now, but I still had to try.

"Oh, man," I moaned, jumping into my little red Chevy Spark. "Why did Plato pick _today_ to knock my alarm clock off the dresser?! Stupid cat."

I guess I should tell you who I am. My name's Kristine Larissa Talbot, Kris for short. I'm twenty-six years old, I live in a one bedroom apartment with Plato (a little grey puffball of a cat with more fur than sense), and I'm a die-hard Transformers fangirl, which is probably what started the mess I didn't know I was about to be in.

After spending fifteen minutes driving just under the speed limit (I liked living more than I wanted a job), I pulled into the parking lot of the retail store I'd sent my application to. I knew, realistically, that they probably wouldn't hire me after I'd been this late (I reiterate, stupid cat), so I made sure to psyche myself up for rejection before I went in.

Half an hour later I flopped back into the driver's seat, having been proven correct. They told me they would keep an eye out for a position for me, but I knew they were just being nice.

I was gonna skin Plato when I got home.

While I was sitting there, contemplating feline homicide, my cellphone started ringing. A glance at the screen revealed it to be Max Henderson, the only friend I'd made since I moved from southeast Texas to Nevada six months ago.

"Hello?"

 _"Hiya, Dragon!"_ the voice on the other end said, causing me to grimace. Max had nicknamed me that because of my mild obsession with said mythical reptiles. I despised it.

"How many times have I told you not to call me that?" I asked rhetorically.

 _"2,487 and counting, but that's not why I called you. I have a new invention I need help with. I promise I'll pay you."_

"Nothing dangerous? You know my insurance won't cover anything you throw at me."

 _"Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye."_

I snorted. "No thanks. You can give me the details when I get there."

 _"Thanks, Dragon! You're a lifesaver!"_

"Yeah, yeah. See you in twenty minutes. Bye Max."

Hanging up, I started my car and drove out of the parking lot.

* * *

Pulling into Max's driveway, I took the opportunity to look over his house, if you could call it something as mild as a house. It had four stories, an attic, and a basement, the latter of which held his lab.

I confess I was a little worried about what he wanted me to do. The last time I'd helped him with one of his inventions, my normally blue-black hair was dyed bright green with neon pink and purple polka dots for a whole week. Let's just say Max didn't show his face around me for a good long while after that.

Steeling myself, I killed the engine and climbed out of the car.

Opening the front door, I called, "Max? Are you here?"

There was no answer, then...

 **BOOM!**

"Max!" I shouted, rushing down the hall to the basement door. I threw the door open, then staggered backwards as thick smoke erupted from the room. "Max?" I called, coughing.

"How on Earth did _that_ happen?!" a voice croaked out.

"Is everything okay down there?"

"Huh? Oh, hi, Dragon. Yeah, it's fine. You can come on down."

"Don't call me that," I grumbled as I descended the stairs.

"And that's number 2,488," Max quipped as he staggered out of the wreckage of some unidentifiable machine, brushing soot out of his brown hair. "Don't worry," he added at my pensive look, "that wasn't what I wanted your help with. I was just working on something else while I waited. Not sure what went wrong."

I shook my head. "One of these days you're going to blow yourself up, and I hope I'm there to see it. What did you need my help with?"

Max's peridot eyes lit up. "Wait until you see this!"

He led me over to the side of the basement opposite of whatever had just gone kaboom, where a large, tarp-covered object rested innocently in a corner.

"You know how everybody's trying to improve on VR tech?"

"Yeah..."

"Weeell," he pulled the tarp off the object, "I did it."

Beneath the tarp was what looked to be some type of oversized hair dryer—it appeared to be a steampunk version of the kind they used at salons—mounted on the back of a soft chair, which was encased in a large glass and metal... thing.

"Okay, I give up. What is it?"

"This, my dear Dragon, is the Reality Inversion Dive!" he announced with a flourish. "Not the most impressive name, but it's all I could think of."

"Don't call—oh forget it. So what does it do?"

"It's simple, really." He walked over to a nearby control panel. "The diver sits in the chair with the RID Visor over their head, while the controller inserts a DVD or game disk here. The diver can then, through the Visor, interact with whatever the media is as if they were really there."

"So it's a glorified gaming console?" I asked, arching a brow.

"Well, yes and no. It can do that; you know, put you in the driver's seat of the main character and play a game through. But it's meant to allow you to build a whole new story, as if the characters were real."

I nodded as if I understood, though I really didn't. "So what do you need me for?"

Max suddenly looked _very_ uncomfortable. "Erm, well, the thing is…" He trailed off.

"Yes?"

"…I haven't actually tested it yet."

Immediately I knew where this was going. "Oooh, no. Nonononono. You are not using my brain as a guinea pig!"

"Dragon! Relax! I swear to you, I would not ask you to test something if there were even the smallest chance of it hurting you!"

"My hair…" I started, then stopped, because polka dotted hair was a really dumb example of physical harm.

"We both know the only thing _that_ hurt was your ego, not to mention my face when you slapped me. Kris, please? I don't trust anyone else to help."

I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. Max had the Sad Puppy Eyes down to an art form, and he only called by name when he was serious.

"You better have something good for me."

Max beamed. "Don't worry. I picked something I know you'll like." He held up a four DVD cases and, as I read the titles, a sense of grudging excitement arose within me.

Transformers Prime, seasons one, two and three, and Transformers Prime: Predacons Rising.

"Okay. I'm in. Fire it up."

* * *

"Okay, before we get going, do you have any questions?"

From my position in the chair, I twisted around slightly to look at Max. "Are we gonna be able to talk to each other?"

"We should," he replied, gaze fixed on whatever was on the screen of the control panel. "There should be a phone icon in the corner of your vision when you get in there. All you have to do is think at it, and the world will sort of freeze while we talk."

"'Should be'?"

"Like I said, I haven't tested it. Anyway, are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be," I grumbled, turning back around.

"Okay! Starting first test of Reality Inversion Dive in three… two… one!"

Max pressed a button, and the Visor lowered over my head. For a brief moment all I saw was the reflection of my own eyes, then my vision exploded. Colors danced and spun before me, forming then losing shapes faster than I could identify them. My first inkling that something was wrong was when the space around me came alive with static electricity, and Max suddenly let out a shout.

"Kris! Kris, get out of there! It's malfunctioning!"

I tried to move, to push the Visor off my head, but my body wouldn't obey me. The static and colors strengthened and brightened, and a loud whine filled the air. Then the space around me seemed to implode, and I found myself falling.

 ** _"KRIS!"_**

* * *

 _Maxwell Henderson, you are toast. I hope you've made your will, because you are about to die,_ was the first thing that passed through my head as I swam back to consciousness. The second thing was, _When did everything get so bright?_

Blinking rapidly to get used to the sudden brightness, I looked around. I was lying on my stomach next to a lake, surrounded by tall pine trees on one side and high rocky slopes on the other three. And yet… and yet something was wrong with the sight in front of me. Something was off about the angle, and everything was much clearer and crisper than they should have been. I had 20/300 eyesight, and I couldn't feel my contacts. Things weren't supposed to be this clear without them!

Pulling my arms and legs underneath me, I tried to stand up. And ended up falling back onto my stomach. Blinking, I looked down to see what was wrong.

A set of metal limbs with five talons each—three facing forwards, two facing backwards—greeted my incredulous gaze.

 _…WHAT?!_

Somehow, I'm not sure how, I managed to get my body to cooperate long enough to get over to the lake. I looked at my reflection, but it was not my reflection that looked back. Instead of the face of a twenty-six-year-old woman with shoulder length blue-black hair and eyes a rare shade of blue that appeared violet in certain lights, I found myself looking into a pair of toxic yellow optics set in a blue-and-white helm. Somehow, without my consent, I'd been turned into a palette swapped version of Predaking!

 _MAXWELL JOHN HENDERSON! I'M GOING TO_ ** _KILL_** _YOU!_ "SKRRREEEEEEEEEE!


End file.
